Tale of the Seven Deadly Sins
by Eslyssa
Summary: On hold indefinitely. I may continue this at a later date, but for now, no. Starts in the year following OotP - from the pov of an unknown Slytherin in the year below HP - Mentions FC's, but does not centre around them - Rating for psychological issues, s


**Tales of the Seven Deadly Sins – **
    
    Inspired by John Gower's text of the same name, written in about 1395 AD
    
    _by Eslyssa_
    
    _Of hem that writen ous tofore_
    
    _The bokes duelle, and we therfore_
    
    _Ben tawht of that was write tho:_
    
    _Forthi good is that we also_
    
    _In oure tyme among ous hiere_
    
    _Do wryte of newe som matiere,_
    
    _Essampled of these olde wyse_
    
    _So that it myhte in such a wyse,_
    
    _Whan we ben dede and elleswhere,_
    
    _Beleve to the worldes eere_
    
    _In tyme comende after this._

1-11 Prologus from Confessio Amantis or Tales of the Seven Deadly Sins by John Gower - 1330-1408 A.D

One might assume that as the Slytherin house was isolated from the others, by choice, by beliefs, by behaviour and by past history, that there would be an element of camaraderie in its students. That because of their segregation, they would stick together simply because of loyalty. However, the only students who would assume that have never been a part of Salazar Slytherin's house. Certainly, fifth year Estella Shaede had no allusion to that belief. 

Estella was quiet, softly and deliberately spoken; when she did speak, but more often than not, all one would receive would be a silent, unblinking, stare. Estella was not one to ever raise her voice, but she had gained, through years of practise, a look that became known as the death-stare. Even among her dorm mates, the girls avoided her like the plague. It was an odd thing, and no one really knew why – least of all Estella herself – but there was something very disconcerting about her faceted appearance, her anomalous behaviour, and no one wanted anything to do with her.

For those out of her dormitory, very few even knew who she was. It was an annual humiliation, when, due to her introversion and also due her rather short stature and slight figure, a well-meaning prefect or seventh year on the express asked her if she was new, and if she needed anything. They never asked twice. 

This year, on the first of September, once again she was sitting alone in her compartment on the Express. It was a bitter relief, to be leaving the estate for Hogwarts again. Her father had been abroad for the entire summer, and it had been a lonely summer. Not that Estella was close to her father, not that she ever had been, but it was still comfort to look on the face of a wizard, who had been her childhood mentor. The only human faces she had had to look at this summer had been portraits. For once she had actually hunted out one of the many house-elves, purely to see other life – but the sign of a good house-elf, is one which is not seen, and not even the most elderly of the creatures were willing to do more than serve her. 

Estella dragged her thoughts back to the parchment pages in front of her, but for once she had no appetite for reading. She wanted to see him again, but knew she must wait until the evening. She wanted to seek him out, now, on the train, but she knew he would be furious if she did. The now seventh year Antony Filton was the only welcoming face she could expect to see in all her time at the castle.

She told herself repeatedly, 'He is a Gryffindor, and he can not let any of the other students know about our friendship, lest they despise him for being compassionate towards a Slytherin'. But that hurt Estella deeply, that the one person in the entire world that she could call a friend, could not – would not – do so openly in return.

Their friendship had started in her first year, when he was in his third. Nighttime had found Estella up at the astronomy tower, crying there rather than in her dorm so no one would know of her weakness. She was exhausted, but nightmares had ceased any desire to sleep. Antony had come to her then, when she needed someone most – the one time she admitted at least to herself that she needed someone – and held her close until she had stopped weeping, and had drifted into a serene slumber. From that night on, Antony was her one and only friend, though they never met openly due to the house hatred. Antony had never volunteered any explanation of why he had been at the tower, in those wee early hours of morning. Estella had never asked.

She had missed him, over the summer; she hated to admit it, she felt it a weakness to be reliant on anyone. But Antony was the brother she had lost at an early age, the confidant that made up for so many years of being friendless. He never wrote to her over the breaks – that had been by her own decree, lest her father find out – but they spoke sometimes, late at night by floo, through her own fireplace. 

Her father, Marius, did not know that hers was connected to the network separately from the rest of the estate – indeed Estella had not known, until Antony's face appeared in the flames, one night after her father had been berating her. Antony had had it connected, he told her. He had contacts in the Ministry who owed his family favours. But as long as she never used it for anything other than contacting him, or receiving him, it was all right, really. And she was not to mention it to anyone. That was no problem. Who did she have else to contact? Who did she have to tell?

Her musings were interrupted, rather abruptly, with the opening of the compartment door, and a rather tall girl appearing on the other side. Tall. Skinny. Bushy brown hair. Gryffindor. Prefect. Estella knew who the girl was – one of Potter's friends, Granger, though she couldn't remember a first name. But that didn't matter, as the prefect didn't even pause before introducing herself.

"Hello, are you a first-year? I'm Hermione Granger, and I'm one of Hogwarts' sixth year prefects. I know you're probably a little nervous about starting, but I promise its not bad at all, especially if you like to learn –" Hermione Granger stopped her spiel midway, more than a bit disturbed by the weird way the other girl was looking at her.

Estella focused her gaze on the Gryffindor, and finally after a pause that seemed to stretch a sorcerer's age, she spoke, softly, and deliberately, in a voice that seemed to say that it would be better if Granger just turned and left.

"I am fifth year."

Inwardly, Estella tried to placate herself. She had thought that perhaps over the summer she had finally filled out a little. She knew she had grown considerably taller. Obviously not, if she was still taken for a first year. She returned her attention to the parchments, and ignored the slightly open-mouthed gape. 'I got Granger to shut-up.' she thought wryly to herself. 'Do I get a prize for that?'

Without looking up, she heard a male voice, "'Mione? Enough seats? Harry's saying the only seats left are with first years, an' I don't know 'bout you, but I-" The words stopped, and another student appeared around the door, assumedly wondering why "'Mione" wasn't answering. It was Potter's other friend, Weasley. It was amazing, really, how Estella actually knew so many student's names – she knew she could probably count those who knew her name on her fingers… And count those who called her by her first name on her wand.

The redhead gave her a rather gormless look, and turned to the bushy haired girl. "'Mione?"

Hermione blinked, and turned towards Ron. "I-.. Let's go sit with those first years you mentioned. They might be nervous."

Next thing Weasley knew, he was being shooed rather hastily out the door.

Occasionally before and after the summer break, when there was more people travelling on the express than in other times, Estella would not get a compartment to herself. But it seemed like this time the other compartments really were full for her not to have company. Not that she was complaining, she preferred it that way – rather than someone politely trying to make conversation with her, then drifting into a very awkward silence. 

She had asked her father, once, if she could not travel by carriage to Hogwarts, rather than by express. But he told her that tradition was tradition, and that students have always travelled by the express for as long as it was in place, and it was –not- going to change now. 

The door creaked open, causing Estella to jump a little, and she peered over the top of her parchments to see who it was. But in this case, it was not a who, but a what. A sooty coloured kitten with a rather flat nose, peeked its little furry face around the edge of the door. Estella chuckled quietly, and patted the seat beside her – she had always had a soft spot for cats, and while she had none, she gave affection to felines, which perhaps might have been spent on other students. 

The fur-ball padded over, and gave her toes a inquisitive sniff before leaping onto her lap, sending her parchments flying. Estella groaned, but left them where they were – scattered over the compartment – not wanting to disrupt any inkling of trust that had been given to her by faith alone, by someone else's pet. She reached a hand into her satchel, and drew out what was supposed to be her lunch – cold pork pie – and broke off a bit and held it out for Sooty's inspection. It seemed to pass the scrutiny, and Estella found herself breaking off more and more pie to the kitty's satisfaction.

Thus the long and usually tedious train journey passed rather more swiftly than usual, and slightly more peaceful. Her only interruption after that was that of an indignant third year coming to reclaim her now sated pet, who was at that time about to finish the last crumbs of the pie – so Sooty or Jazz, as his owner called him, had to pried off Estella's lap, claws scratching, and all.


End file.
